


Aquila captat muscas

by flowersaretarts



Category: Withnail & I (1986)
Genre: Comedy, Drag, M/M, Silly, christmas pantomime, panto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:04:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersaretarts/pseuds/flowersaretarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas couldn't be bleaker when you've got no penny. Dignity or cash?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aquila captat muscas

“I cannot believe you’re making me do this! This is ridiculous.”

“We must, Withnail, it’s our only chance. It’s a dead season, where else would you get money?”

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,  
than are dreamt of in your plebeian philosophy. Like dignity, for instance.”

“I’m sure the landlord would be pleased to hear this from you”.

Vyvian turned to the mirror, not dignifying his friend’s remark with response.

“Well, I don’t want to get evicted. I’m getting into…these…”

Marwood was hopping on one leg trying to squeeze himself into a pair of blue elastic trousers, that looked inappropriately small in size. He buttoned the waist-long jacket up, put on a bellhop hat, sighed, almost in pain.

An empty bottle landed on the floor with a thud. Withnail stood up in determination and rushed to the hangers.

“Right, you fuckers. I will show the lot of you.”

He was to busy cursing and pulling his outfit on to notice that Marwood turned nearly radiant behind his back.

“Fix this bastard on me.” - demanded Withnail as he lit his seventh cigarette.   
Holding back his giggles, Peter mounted a colossal yellow wig onto Withnail’s head. It had two pigtails held by large blue bows and smelled like mothballs.

“How do you want me to live with humiliation like this!” - he moaned.

There was a knock on the door.

“Hey, Buttons, you’re up! Get your arse there. Whoah! Where do you think you’re going, forehead boy? Your turn is in two minutes. You’re gonna block the way with your fucking petticoats. Stand aside.”

Marwood was gone into the darkness of the corridor, his friend was left behind in rage, shame and loneliness.

Two minutes, two minutes. Fine. Let them have it. Bastards, you snotty little vomit balls, watch me shine.

“Booooo!” roared the audience as the eldest of Cinderella’s Ugly Sisters proudly made his entrance.   
“Hello, everyone, I am Makarena!”   
“Boo!”  
Withnail stepped into the spotlight, pushing Cinderella (a slightly sober gloomy blonde with a bull ring) aside.

“Tonight!” he said, “the story is mine! You want to know? Do you? You all know Cinderella. Oh, all the love she gets!  
And me? What am I but a maiden of misery! My name must be Dolores, for dolorous am I…”

“What the fuck is he doing?”, whispered Marwood and hid his face in his hands.

“Who cares”, said an apathetic host next to him, “It’s a 10 o'clock morning show, who the fuck cares, as soon as he’s not mooning at the kids.”

Meanwhile the stage was Withnail’s, he went on with an improvised soliloquy about the predicaments of being the Ugly Sister. He paced, and ran, and fell on his knees, and called on to the heavens for justice.

The reward was quite predictable, peanuts in the face, booing, being gagged and carried away off stage.

He wouldn’t remember half of it, but Marwood still swears to all his mates - that was the best Christmas Pantomime ever.


End file.
